


By Atoms Moved;

by wanderer (kassy_syd)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, M/M, Medical Procedures, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Protectiveness, Recovery, Whump, indulging my hurt/comfort kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassy_syd/pseuds/wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We should have guessed that they would have a contingency plan for his escape, but, the horrifying simplicity of it was astonishing. </p><p>After 72 hours without checking in the Winter Soldier was programmed to snap, indiscriminate violence simply taking over entirely, until he was inevitably taken down. The chaos he'd create, a happy side-effect of the process. Their asset, if he lived, would be reacquired and wiped again. If he died, the truth died with him. An unfortunate loss, but, contained nonetheless"</p><p>Though Bucky is brought in safely, there is still something very wrong with him. Hard choices need to be made. </p><p> <br/>Notes: Epic amounts of Protective!Steve and Hurt!Bucky. The chair makes several reappearances as do various Avengers. Basically an excuse to indulge my Hurt/Comfort kink, but, don't worry Bucky will get through it all... eventually.  Diverges from canon after the film: Captain America: The Winter Soldier.  Additional kinks include lots of restraints, feeding, medical, over-protectiveness by everyone and angst. Comments are appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

He let us catch him.

 

Fighting himself twice as hard as he was fighting us.

His muscles were beyond tense, curling to strike as he fought to pull himself back. He could barely speak, but I could see it in his eyes, the confusion, the struggle. I could see his desperation and powerlessness. I could see that he truly didn't understand. Couldn't.

 

But he was trying, so very hard.

 

 * * * * 

 

 

Clint was the one to eventually brought him down.

 

We'd surrounded him, exhausted him with defensive blows meant to weaken rather than injure. And when finally he'd staggered, momentarily dazed, Clint had shot a tranc straight into the meat of his thigh.

 

 

He went down quickly. Heavily, grimacing and obviously scared.

 

I ran to him, trying unsuccessfully to break his fall but failed and heard a sickening thud as his body gave way under him.

As I finally knelt by him, I caught the last flicker of awareness and what looked like relief.

 

“Get him out of here.” I told Tony, “Let's get him somewhere safe.”

 

* * * *

 

We kept him sedated for a few days then, medical care and preparations judged too traumatic for him to be awake. I felt like it was betraying him somehow, gripping and positioning his limp form as we moved him from bed to machine and back.

His body a catalogue of injuries.

 

“His bones have been broken again and again,” Bruce told me, “and there are scars, even though you can't see them. Or rather, there were scars. They've long since faded but the evidence is still there. You don't want to see, believe me”

“And the arm?”

“Horrific. They carved away almost his entire shoulder. I'm not even sure of the entire mechanism. Tony will need to study it. It's beyond me.”

“Ok,” We'd deal with that later “any idea what to expect when he wakes up?”

“Honestly, I have no idea”

 

* * * *

Pain, nothing but pain. I should have known.

 

* * * *

 

The first time he woke with a shivering immediacy.

His limbs twisting against the restraints before his eyes had even opened, and a deep quiet moan escaped his lips.

He thrashed for a moment, still weak with the sedative, but the straps held.

“Bucky! Bucky, it's ok. You're safe, it's me, Steve.”

 

But still he fought. No recollection, nothing, nothing but violence and desperation. He didn't speak, though I could tell me wanted to, he'd open his mouth but instead of words, his teeth would clench shut. Blinding confusion and disorientation rather than rage at least.

 

“Bruce!” I yelled

He came running, syringe in hand.

“I'm so sorry Bucky.” I said as he was dragged back down. “I'm so sorry.”

 

* * * *

 

The second time we woke him, we did it gradually. Easing him awake in micro-reductions in the sedation and I was there the whole time. Whispering to him as his tired and confused eyes opened and shut again.

Talking to him throughout.

Memories of our childhood together.

“K...Know yoo” He'd slurred when his clouded eyes opened, mere slits.

“Yes!” Hope “Yes, you do”

I couldn't help reaching out, wanting to touch him, but the minute almost imperceptible flinch froze me in place.

 

And he was gone again.

 

 

* * * *

 

_The lights are too bright. Brighter than the labs...this is wrong._

 

_Drugs are wrong, too smooth._

_Warm, something soft._

_It should be cold._

 

_Limbs should be quickfire, searing agony striping back._

_Consciousness hurts._

_Lying on something soft._

 

_Something's wrong._

_The straps, wrong configuration._

 

 _A man, the man from the ship._ _The one with the too familiar eyes. Here._

_Standing here, pushing down the fighting limbs. Still moving, fighting, the Winter Soldier._

 

_KILL HIM.  Please no. no._

_Another man._

_Blackness._

 

 

_* * * *_

 

_Again. Slower now. more drugs._

 

_Straps hold firm. ESCAPE. lie still._

_gentle hands._

_Spoken gently, words are familiar. know them. and wrong._

_this voice. should not be speaking. Should not be here...now._

 

_MADNESS. feels warm, sweet, sweet. no. impossible._

 

 

“ _You know me.”  a name._

_heartbeat racing. pressure in the chest. breathe. not pain. pain. breath faster. pressure behind the eyes. breathe. breathe. no._

  _Turn away, straps don't allow it. can't away from pain. pain?_

 

 _Darkness._ _insistent. drowning._

_His voice.  HALLUCINATION. NOT REAL. can't be._

_fight it. tell him._

 

_* * * *_

 

“Bucky?” I asked, watching his eyelids flutter open again. “Bucky, nod if you can hear me.”

Though he didn't move, his eyes held mine, focused clearly on my face searching for something.

“Hurt... you” he slurred, the sadness was obvious.

“No. You didn't. No one. I promise”

“No! Will.." and with that effort, his jaws clamped shut and a shaking started. The violence took over again, but, the look in his eyes was knowing, it wasn't the confusion or anger. It was regret and even worse, acceptance.

 

 

* * * *

 

 

“He recognises me,” I told Bruce, “He knows my voice, I can tell. But something is keeping him back.”

Bruce nods, having observed the same.

“His behaviour is contradictory, that's for sure. Every time he's conscious his physical response is to fight, pure violence. But, it is also apparent both from his earlier comments and his continued attempts to disrupt himself that this is a conditioned response. But how to break it, I don't know” He said sadly.

“Will it fade?”

“Hard to know. We'll ease off the sedation and see how much of your friend comes through. It may be that the Winter Soldier is entirely in control.”

“Ok, lets try that”

 

****

 

We should have guessed that they would have a contingency plan for his escape. But, the simplicity of it was astonishing.

 

After 72 hours without checking in the Winter Soldier was programmed to snap, indiscriminate violence simply taking over entirely, until he was inevitably taken down. The chaos he'd create, a happy side-effect of the process. Their asset, if he lived, would be reacquired and wiped again. If he died, the truth died with him.

An unfortunate loss, but, contained nonetheless

 

He was basically incapable of speech, a few simple words getting through the chaos. But I could see that what was going on behind his eyes spoke volumes more.

 

“Kill me.” He'd told Tony as he circled him above. Ground out words, angry and barely intelligible. “No time.”

We tranquilized him instead.

 

 

****

“As far as I can tell, there is only one way to clear the programming and you're not going to like it.” Bruce and the doctors looked nervous speaking and that was telling enough.

“Tell me.”

“The chair. Or more specifically neural recalibration”

“No.”

“I know.”

“No. I won't do that to him.”

“I don't see that we have any other choice.” Bruce said sadly, “Tony can reverse engineer a better, gentler machine.”

“God Bruce, I can't do that to him”

“Steve, it won't wipe him again, though that would be easier on us all. We'll work only on the programming, keep everything else.”

There was no answer I could give.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

“Well, if this didn't make building bombs feel like the moral high ground,” said Tony gesturing to the machine behind him. “Those guys in HYDRA were real assholes you know. This machine... lets just say that it shouldn't exist.”

“Just tell me how it works,” My emotions feel flat but I need to hear it.

 

Bruce was the one to speak. “It's pretty advanced tech actually, but brutal all the same. The basic workings of the machine are to maintain the selective amnesia and implant useful knowledge and behaviors. Bucky was allowed to keep any relevant or implanted military information, skills, languages and background knowledge between wipes. But the rest of it was isolated from his working memory. Not removed entirely, thankfully, but it'll be a long and painful process to give him access. He'll have to do most of the work himself too, he'll need to fight to remember.”

“And the programming?”

“A slightly different matter I'm afraid. It was implanted and needs to be stripped out. It's not going to be pretty.”

“Just... just walk me through it.”

 

“They would have implanted the programming over years, slowly building on it's efficacy until eventually it was as much as part of him as a limb or organ. And it'll be like that to remove it, cutting away a limb.”

 

“So, you cut it out?” The thought horrified me.

“In a sense. We use the same techniques of the original chair but on a much lower frequency. We'll be selective about targeting only the parts of his brain affected by the implanted mechanism. Basically we're going to re-calibrate his neural responses back from abnormal to normal levels”

“And you've done this before?”

“Only in theory. But, that's why we've got to go so slowly and carefully. We can't afford to make mistakes.”

 

* * * *

 

He was sleeping when I returned from the lab. The nurse told me that he had woken up a couple of times but didn't appear to be truly conscious for either. A small consolation.

It was agony to see him like this. Once so full of life and love, just lying here so quietly and yet still having to fight so hard. Still so brave.

“ Bucky?” I try again, “Bucky. Can you open your eyes? I need to talk to you.”

They'd given him muscle relaxants at the highest dosage they dared but still he tensed against the straps. He opened his eyes though, turning towards me, his lips forming a grim line.

“I need your consent to do something to you. I really don't want to but if there was any other way, I promise you we'd do it.” I hope he understands, at least a little of what I'm saying.

“You can't stay like this and the doctors all say that it's not going to get better unless we do something. I know you're fighting it, but you can't fight forever, you'll lose. I'll lose you.” I couldn't help but reach out to take his hand, fighting him gently to grasp my fingers around his.

He'd tried to keep eye contact but his head kept twitching away, jarring against the pillow. I better be quick, I thought to myself, he's not going to be able to focus long.

“We've got to go back into your brain Buck. We've got to cut the programming out. I'm so sorry.”

* * * *

 

“ _Cut the programming out. I'm so sorry.” Him. lonely sad eyes.  warm hands. With the dozens of kill points._

_First need to break free._

_In and out of focus, prioritise listening. Too many drugs , scientists must have got to dosage wrong, ineffective like this._

“ _...not as bad as the chair. I promise....” still speaking. Focus on his voice. Focus._

“ _Bucky. I won't do it unless you agree.”_

_Agree? Agree....nod?....nod._

“ _It's gonna hurt Buck. But it'll make it better. Tony says it'll help you. So you don't have to fight anymore.”_

_Make it better. Not fight._

_Nod to make it better. Sad eyes wants a nod._

_Muscles move. Up and...down. Make it better. Help._

“ _Thank god.” relived voice, tightness, sounds better, good._

“ _You can go back to sleep now if you want, I'll stay with you.”_

_Sleep now. Darkness._

 

_* * * *_

 

“Do you think he can talk? We'll need him to soon enough. He'll have to be our guide for where to work.” Bruce asked.

“But you can start without him?”

“Yes, to a point. The surface level programming is actually quite obvious. We'll be able to start with that at least and then make a plan.”

“Fine. When?” It hurts to ask.

“As soon as possible. You can't keep someone sedated for too long. And he's harming himself every time he's conscious, fighting those straps. Tonight, once Tony's finished running the final simulations”

I nodded, numb. We were going to do it then.

 

* * * *

 

The device didn't look like much. Not even a helmet really, more like a series of metal plates bolted together.

We lifted Bucky off the bed and onto a padded bench with what appeared to be a metal headrest at one end. He was still unconscious so they had me hold him up against my chest as they started to connect the sensors to his chest and arms. It felt intimate, protectiveness filled me uncomfortably.

The headrest casing was then lifted away to reveal some intricate electrodes and tech I didn't recognize.

Tony asked me to hold Bucky still while ran the last checks.

The device started up, a buzzing, crackling sound and across the space where his head was meant to rest shot a bolt to electricity. Sharp and bright.

“NO!” Reflexively I pulled away, pulling Bucky with me.

“No,” I heard myself saying, “Oh God!”

But Sam was there, hand resting on my arm.

“I know you're scared for him. It's not what any of us want but you gotta let them do this. It'll be ok,” he reassured, “Let them help him.”

He gestured with open arms. So we lowered him down, with Tony guiding his head into just the right position before starting to assemble the rest.

The other pieces clicked across his forehead and obscured part of his face. I couldn't help leaning in and feeling along the edges of the device where it sat snug against his vulnerable skull and shudder inwardly. What were we doing?

They pulled the straps across his chest, waist, thighs and ankles. Cuffs for his wrists and Tony had already de-powered his metal arm just in case.

He leaned over Bucky for a moment, checking everything over before he turned to me, a mouthguard in his hand.

“Last thing.”

We pulled Bucky's mouth open and leveraged it inside before pulling the chin strap tight.

 

 

 

“Ok, lets wake him up.” said Tony allowing Bruce to step in, syringe in hand.

Soon Bucky's eyes drifted open, the now familiar confusion evident.

“He has to be fully awake before we can start,” said Bruce gently. Tony's eyes were glued to the monitors mounted behind him.

“Bucky?” his eyes rolled over to me slowly, the tremors mercifully gentle.

“You ready Buck?”

I followed his eyes up as he saw the dozens of cables trailing away from his head, suspended above him and watched as comprehension broke through. What we planned to do to him.

His eyes shut for a moment, his face pulled into a grimace but already his limbs were starting to tremor, involuntary movements pulling against the straps.

He nods, his eyes again open but struggling to focus before closing again.

“Ok. I think we're ready. Bruce?” Tony asked, his voice too animated, false sounding.

“As we'll ever be,” Bruce confirms.

I lent over and took his hand, “We'll be as gentle as we can Buck. And quick. I promise.” I hoped I could keep that promise.

* * * *

 

Tony keyed in something to his tablet and the tech started to hum gently. He scanned the various monitors, typed in a few more keystrokes and Bucky started to scream, long jagged noises, desperate. Like an animal, inhuman.

I wanted to tell Tony to stop, to hit him and drag Bucky away.

“Tony please!” I begged pointlessly.

But he mostly ignored me, only shooting a momentarily pitying glance before turning back to the screen in front of him.

But Sam was kinder, resting a hand on my shoulder, anchoring me.

But Bucky wasn't screaming any more, he was whimpering, his hands flexed and unflexed in my grasp.

 

 

“Talk to him,” Bruce said, “see if we can't get him to recognise your voice.”

“Yeah. Ok,” I said doubtfully.

In this much pain, I doubted he could even hear me. But it was better than doing nothing.

“Bucky, it's Steve. I want to tell you that you're safe. I know it hurts, but it'll be over soon and...” I trailed off, unsure and upset.

 

“And there it is!” I could hear Tony's elated voice and turn to him. He's beaming at me and swings the monitor around.

“He's definitely still in there.”

And though I couldn't read the monitor like Tony could, they had shown me what to look for. The picture of his brain shown there was lighting up with every word I said. It said more clearly than all the words I wish Bucky could say, but couldn't.

Somewhere deep down he knew me, knows what we once had.

“That's a road map if I ever saw one,” said Tony smiling, “With this much clear delineation between the Winter Soldier and Bucky, I reckon we'll get progress pretty quickly.”

“Tony,” Sam warned “I doubt it's that simple. You can't just cut away everything he is as the Winter Soldier, it's who he is now too.”

Tony looks unconvinced but shrugs.

“Topic for another day.” I gritted my teeth and refused to join in, it would eventually up to Bucky, not us. Hopefully.

“Keep talking Steve. I'm going to have to amp this up for a minute here and then with a bit of luck we'll be done.”

Bruce was ready with the sedative, in case we needed it afterwards. But, they were both staring at the screen discussing something I didn't even try to follow.

They screaming was starting up again, it drowned out everything but me and him.

Helplessly I hung on to his hand, unable to comfort more that.

And I spoke to him, of stupid, past things, happy memories, old jokes. Anything that didn't hurt to say. Anything to cover his increasingly ragged voice.

 

* * * *

 

_This pain. familiar but not._

_Not that blindness, complete, nothing pain._

 

_This pain. a blade. Scalpel cutting flesh away._

_Images. An arm sliced away from bone. White and red, dripping. Part of an arm._

_Now gone._

_A white coat. cold. Cold._

_Please! begging doesn't work._

 

_More. A coffin, frozen inside against a wall._

_A metal bench. Antiseptic and blood. Blood overflowing and pooled on the floor._

_Too much. Pain again. Flashing._

_knife._

_gun_

_tray of tools_

_uniform_

_metal plate with gruel_

_a saw. bone saw_

_Please! Please don't cut away any more! Voice begging_

 

_different voice._

_His? Lonely. Sad. Gentle eyes._

_His._

 

_images change. dirt._

_different gun on broken bricks_

_still cold_

_taste. Cigarettes_

_something else?_

_taste._

_Chocolate?_

 

“ _Remember when we found the box of stashed delicacies? Someone had his it in a bombed out barn outside Munich.”_

_barn?_

“ _You liked the tinned oysters. Do you remember Bucky? I thought they looked like tinned slugs. But you just laughed at me and picked them out with your fingers, licking the oil off when you were done. Said the best things should always be eaten with your fingers._

_Oh and that dark Belgium chocolate, the sweetest thing we'd eaten in months. Even I felt a little ill at the flavour.”_

_Taste. strange. Strong._

_Sunlight shifting through holes in a high wooden roof._

 

_Fight it. Don't fight it. Fight it._

 

_Light, sparkling off particles drifting down into hay bales._

_Someone laughing. a distant place._

_Him. Him laughing. Him?_

_Not laughing now. Was laughing._

_Before. Long ago._

_Long ago._

 

_Why?_

* * * *

 

  
And suddenly he was looking at me, like he knew me, for the first time he was looking right at me.

“Stop!” I ordered, “Stop. It's enough for now.” I dared not look away from him, lest I lose this.

But Tony's response was immediate. The humming stopped as his feather-light fingers danced over the keys, shutting all but the monitors down.

Bucky was still looking at me, clearly focused on me like he was trying to figure something out.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He stopped trying to speak barely a day after the first treatment, if it was the trauma or the damage we did, it’s hard to know. Tony and Bruce are convinced that it wasn’t anything we did, just the next stage of HYDRA programming kicking in, nothing to be done but wait and hope that with enough time and removing enough of HYDRA’s work, we might get him the skill back. I don’t know what to tell him, I know he’s confused and suffering but I don’t dare stop this process, I can’t.

 

 

I can’t tell him that it’s ok, that he can give in. I’m selfish in my need.

I want him to fight.

Even if he has nothing left.

I want to put him through all the more pain, all the more suffering, just so I don’t have to be alone again. And I know I’m cruel, crueler than Hydra ever was, because I don’t even put him through this for a purpose.

No, I’m making him scream because it better than silence.

And while I sit by his unconscious form, I can’t help but beg his forgiveness, because my selfishness has no bounds, there is no level I won’t sink to have him here, with me again, no guilt too feirce to make me stop.

Even this shattered shaddow of him I have now, even that strange half-knowing, half-confusion I see in his eyes sometimes is better than the alternative.

Because he is Bucky, and because now that I have him back, I can’t live in a world that he isn’t in too.

 

 

So, Bucky doesn’t get to decide.

He doesn’t get to refuse as I strap him in and try desperately to ignore the screams.

Because, I know, with every treatment that is slowly driving us all mad, he’s improving. We’re cutting Hydra away, and a bit of Bucky too.

But the violence comes slower and with less intensity than before, it’s sluggish limbs trying to break free instead of the quick vicious movements of the early days. It’s in the pause before the strike, the caution before the inevitable.

It’s in his eyes, desperately seeking to understand, that I know he’s trying.

I know he’s fighting.

 

 

Tony’s made a chair, upright and as dignified as he could manage. It’s still metal and industrial but it lets Bucky at least see what’s happening to him and around him. It lets us talk (me talk) with him eye-to-eye. It’s a start.

He’s strapped in there now, immobilized while I try to get him to eat. There is even a strap across his forehead and padded supports of either side of his skull to hold it steady lest he injure himself thrashing.

There’s soup and finger food provided by Tony’s private chef. The soup is thick, creamy and smelling wonderful.

I take a mouthful myself, meeting Bucky’s eyes as I swallow.

“It’s safe, I promise.”

I hold out the spoon, waiting for the delicious smell to reach his senses. His eyes dart to mine and then the spoon, fearful and unsure. I shrug and take a second spoonful myself.

“Tastes amazing Bucky. Please try some.”

I try again, watching the muscles of his jaw quiver as if trying to open.

“That’s it.” I encouraged him, “Open your mouth. I know it’s hard, I know you have to force the muscles, but Bruce says you should be able to force them to obey at least a bit now. You just need to concentrate, tell each muscle, each tendon to open.”

I can see the moment his determination kicks in, whether it’s the wonderful smell on offer after so long on a feeding tube or my words, I don’t know. But slowly and with obvious effort, his mouth edges open.

“That’s good Buck. A little more, come on.”

I slide the spoon between his teeth and ease it upwards so the liquid has a chance to slide down into his mouth. His jaw clicks shut the moment I finish easing the spoon out, and I can’t help but wince for his teeth.

But the startled pleasure evident on his face is reward enough. His eyes close for a moment and when they reopen it’s with a sort of surprised wonder, like he had been expecting me to lie, for it to be some new horror. But instead there is only pleasure, only warm, comforting food.

I couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“Ready for more?”

He couldn’t nod of course but the way he fixed his eyes with mine said enough.

And though it takes almost an hour (soup reheated twice) and Bucky exhausting himself with the effort, he manges to finish almost half of the bowl. The finger food proved too difficult as it required chewing but I tell him not to worry, we’ll get there soon enough.

I can’t help but feel some sort of victory has been won here, maybe he was just obeying me when I told him to eat or maybe he was just desperate to escape the feeding tube but the spark of pleasure I saw, when he first tasted it, was real. He could enjoy something, I could bring him some measure of comfort.

The nurses came then to administer a sedative so he could be moved back to bed. He was already half asleep, the effort required to control even that much of his body exhausting him beyond any of his previous violence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Kindness is blue eyes._

_Something….someone_

_Small? Weakness?_

 

_Flashes of a filthy alley, a fistfight_

_Awkward, too amateur_

_Frustration?_

_Protectiveness?_

_Long ago? Long forgotten._

 

_…end of the line._

 

_It hurts!_

_Please!!!_

_Please…_

 

 

_A train……_

_No. Too much pain._

_NO._

 

“Bucky?”

_Open my eyes, open…open!_

_Yes. That man again._

_Relief?_

 

_New position. Upright._

_The chair again?!_

_Freezing, scalding, nothing, terror, nothing_

_Nothing…..wait….nothing…_

 

_Focus….FOCUS_

 

“Bucky, it’s Steve. I’ve brought you something to eat. I want you to try it ok?”

Eat? …

“It’s safe, I promise.”

_Blue eyes, safety, he smells like safety, like home?_

“Tastes amazing Bucky. Please try some.”

 

_Want…_

_Want like warm water, willing… sinking down into it…_

_muscles easing, pain receding_

_Want in a gentle way_

_He wants this, wants me to eat._

 

 

_Something deep, something old_

_Long forgotten. Pain, not pain, hurt…_

_Loss?_

_For him…for him anything._

 

“That’s it.”

“Open your mouth. I know it’s hard, I know you have to force the muscles, but Bruce says you should be able to force them to obey at least a bit now. You just need to concentrate, tell each muscle, each tendon to open.”

_For him anything_

 

_Yes, for him._

_Muscles contracting_

_Strain and tension, rope pulled taut, cables locked in place_

 

 

_And he’s smiling_

_At me._

_He’s smiling because I succeeded._

_For him._

_Sunshine passing through murky windows,_

_And the boy with a new sketchpad, smiling up…_

_sunshine brighter than daylight_

 

 

 

_Long ago._

_Failed_

_Long ago? Yesterday?_

_When?_

 

_Can’t fail… not again._

 

 

 

“Congratulations are in order I hear?” Bruce says, dropping himself onto the sofa across from me in Tony’s common room.

“Yes, he was able to take enough control back to eat almost an entire meal.”

“You have to be encouraged by the progress he’s made.” He says smiling gently, “It’s only been a couple of weeks, and with the damage his brain sustained well before he arrived here, his ability to heal and determination is remarkable.”

“I just wish I could do more, make it so that it didn’t have to be so painful.”

“Believe me, you are definitely helping. Though it may not feel like it now, every time we put him back in the machine, more and more of the healthy, pre-Hydra sections light up, he’s obviously growing able to access more and more of who he was, and part of that is through your voice and guidance in the sessions. I know it’s hard, none of us are coping well with the process, myself included, but you’ve got to know that eventually he’ll be able to decide for himself if he wants to keep going. We just have to get him to a point where he can rationally decide.”

“And what if he says no? What if it hurts too much? Or he doesn’t want to know?”

“Then we respect that. The aim here isn’t to get your Bucky back and wipe everything else away. It’s to free him from Hydra’s programming, to give him back control of his own body and mind. Once we’ve done that. Well, it’s going to be all up to him.”

I nod. Though it’s terrifying to think that he might not want to remember or know me, it’s just the thought of him being able to choose. And it’s a comfort to know that Bruce at least will make sure that happens, I don’t think I could.

That’s enough. It has to be.

 

 

 

 

************

 

 

 

The greatest and most terrible thing about Bucky is that he never stops trying. He doesn’t know how to give in, has to give everything he has and more, has to rip himself apart for me over an over again.

When I was weak, sickly and desperate, I never felt alone. Bucky made sure of it, never let the world show it’s true colors because he had my back, never let me fall. Never left my side till he was forced to, forced into a war he never chose.

I knew he was conscripted, though he never said. He didn’t want to leave me, couldn’t comprehend it till finally the day arrived and he was all false bravado and hiding behind the gal on his arm. But I knew, I fought a war for patriotic duty and naive fearlessness.

But Bucky, well, he fought to keep it away from me, keep the war from reaching home. He wanted me safe and he was willing to die for it. I knew, had always known that he was a better, kinder, stronger man than me, still is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We let him sleep through the night, or at least as much as he is able. The nurses usher me out at midnight, promising to call when he wakes.

Dawn, or a little before. They’re trying to avoid too much sedation.

He’s awake and glaring at the nurses when I arrive. Their solemn expressions testament to the night he’s had.

“Rough night pal?” I ask, feigning cheerfulness. Dreams, Bruce had said, his brain is trying to sort out the new memories. It’ll be rough on him for a while, but it’s good, means he’s processing it all.

His look is full of life, seething and frustrated. I take that as a good sign.

“We got you to eat a bit yesterday. Feel like trying again?”

He doesn’t reply, but an almost nod is enough for me.

I ease his bed into a more upright position. It’s not the most comfortable bed, more like a padded bench with blankets pulled up and concealing the various straps and belts. Except for his metal arm, that’s fastened down with a metal cuff.

The hospital gown he’s wearing makes him look so vulnerable and fragile. It’s hard to believe it’s all necessary. We hope it soon won’t be.

The nurses have provided me with some juice and runny porridge (easier to swallow apparently) but it’s been sweetened with honey and sprinkled with Cinnamon.

I try the juice first, a cup of orange juice with a simple straw. But, with nothing holding his head steady, it seems to get the best of him. His limbs begin to tremor again, fighting the straps with increased urgency. As if the small freedom allowing his head movement on the pillow prompted the rest to fight.

I reach up and remove the pillow, placing my hand on his forehead, pressing him back down against the mattress.

“Ok,” I smile down at him, “That better? Try again?”

His face is tight with concentrated effort, and as I hold the straw up against his lips they curl around it, sucking willingly.

Relief floods through me.

And although his hands form tight fists, his feet taut and buckling against the mattress, the trembling has ceased. The shaking tension easing as he wins small victories for control.

 

 

Sam comes to visit him after breakfast, carrying an ipod and speaker set-up.

“Thought you might like a few tunes to break up the boredom in here a little.” He cheerfully provides as he hunts for a spare power-point, Bucky’s hooked up to so many monitors and devices, it takes a while.

Finally Sam finds a spare one jammed in behind one of the visitors chairs and promptly plonks himself down on it satisfied.

“Ok, I’ve got some of the old stuff you’ll probably be familiar with, not really my style so I just downloaded a couple of best of the thirties and forties albums and I’ve added some of the best stuff you guys have probably missed. Figure you can bond over a few Queen albums or something equally melodramatic.” He says winking at Bucky conspiratorially.

The look he gets in response is categorically bland but at least he’s paying attention. Sam clicks around on the ipod for a seconds before the familiar voices of the Williams Sisters start up gently, washing over the beeps and clicks of the medical monitors.

Sam leans over to me and asks, “Breakfast?” looking at the almost empty bowl of porridge.

“Yep, almost the whole bowl.”

“Pretty impressive.” He seem genuinely pleased and it shows in his smile, aimed directly at Bucky. And Bucky in response, meets his eyes squarely, ‘don’t patronize me’ they seem to say, I bite back a delighted laugh, that look was typical Bucky, never one for praise at the best of times.

But, for some reason Bucky had settled a bit. The tension noticeably reduced in his shoulders and arms.

“Guess he likes that music,” Sam provides brushing off the obvious retort and settling in seemingly for the foreseeable, “So Bucky, Steve tells me that you’re getting some basic motor control back. Bruce suggested I come and give Steve here a hand in seeing what you can really do. Feel like doing a couple of exercises?”

The expectation is thick in the air, Bucky just looks confused.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Sam looks at me knowingly, “Steve here is going to undo the straps around your flesh arm just up to the elbow. Hey, it’s ok don’t panic, he’ll be here the whole time, you won’t be able to hurt him or us.” Bucky’s breathing and heart-rate is starting to get worrying fast.

“Stay with me ok? Just one arm, and we’re going to see if you can control it. Pick up and drop a ball, stuff like that. Sound like fun?” The falseness in his cheerful voice is almost imperceptible.

Bucky for his part seems scared, his eyes darting around the room and out to the nurses he knows are sat just outside the door before finally settling back on me.

“I know you can do this.” I tell him, “Will you at least try?”

He doesn’t nod or move at all, simply continuing to stare at me as if memorizing the feature of my face. His gaze remains locked to me as I shift up closer to him and reach across for his hand.

I grasp it in mine, “We’ll start slow. No straps undone until you’re ready. First I want you to hold this.” I hold up the foam ball Sam passes me, it’s a ludicrous thing, lime green and almost weightless.

I grasp his arm and maneuver it within the straps so that his palm is facing upwards. The calluses still rough and telling of a life filled with violence, not unlike my own.

I circle is wrist with one of my hands and hold the ball in the other, the hand still curled in a fist, strike ready.

“You need to will your hand to open Bucky. I know you have trouble relaxing the muscles so I’m not asking you to do that, I want you to force each finger out and then the palm flat ok?”

The muscle spasms are getting worse but I can feel a small controlled movement in his wrist where I’m holding him, like he’s testing the muscles, seeing how it feels.

“That it,” I encourage, “Now open them up. You know how to do this.”

He grunts almost silently, more of a breath huffed and angry. But the fingers move, first a claw is formed, tights with tension. Then with almost superhuman effort he lays his hand out flat. I reward him with a glowing smile.

“Well done Buck.”

I rub his wrist encouragingly, and place the ball onto his palm.

“Ok now, close them around the ball. Good.” They snap back closed around the innocent foam.

“And open,” It’s a little quicker this time, as if he’s working out the easiest pathways, but he’s started to pant a little with the effort.

We work him through the motion a dozen more times, and twice without the wrist strapped into place before I take the ball away and help him take a few long draws of water from the cup a nurse brings me.

“You did really well Buck.”

“Time for a break I reckon.” Sam pronounces, “and I’ve got the best reward for all that effort.” He holds up a block of rich dark chocolate, “Steve told me you’re a dark chocolate man and Tony assures me this is one of the best.”

He opens the packet and breaks off a row for himself and passing the rest to me, “Apparently it’s best to just hold it in your mouth, let it slowly melt.” He pops his in his mouth, savoring the bitter sweetness.

I resume up previous hold on his forehead, unable to withstand the desire to touch I brush back the hair that had fallen across his eyes and tuck it behind his ear, loving the way he’d unconsciously lent into my touch. Somethings were ingrained I guessed, God I missed touching him.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

He allows me to ease a single piece between his lips and rest it on his tongue. I wait with expectation, soon rewarded. The groan this time is from pure pleasure. I take a piece myself, yep, Tony has good taste that’s for sure.

“Oh, he’s definitely enjoying that,” the delight in Sam’s voice is clear, “I’m going to leave this block here by your bed, if you want more I want you to open your hand, like we’ve been practicing and we’ll make sure you get some. I’ll even promise to buy more when this block is done, as many as you like, but, you’ve got to promise me something,” he levels Bucky with a serious look, “you got to enjoy it alright? Yeah, I know, seems like a stupid thing to say but you’ve gotta try to give any moment that bring you pleasure precedence over the bad, it’s a small thing, enjoying the taste of something, but when our lives are so full of pain, you gotta let any small joy have it’s moment.”

 

 

_Any small joy_

_touch_

_Fingers brushing hair back_

_Resting on my wrist_

 

_Small joys…_

_Music, warm and smoky room_

_Cigars and booze_

_And my arm tucked around a frame smaller than mine_

_“No Gals tonight Stevie, just us and a bottle of whiskey.”_

 

_Tastes like?_

_Tastes like…_

 

_Unclench my hand.._

_He’d said…._

_Force it…_

 

 

“That’s it Bucky, of course you can have more.”

_Fingers, sliding gently under my jaw, warm, calloused, warm, familiar._

“And when you’re ready, I want you to try telling me in words or however you can. If you want something ok? Not soon, but when you’re ready.”

_Palm up… open up_


End file.
